


but you can lay with me so it doesn't hurt

by likebrightness



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Season/Series 04 Spoilers, Threesome, Threesome - F/F/M, half a big bang worth of threesome smut, i just have a lot of feelings, post-season four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:43:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2578700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likebrightness/pseuds/likebrightness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dyson tucks her into Lauren’s bed, pushes her hair behind her ear. “Sleep,” he says.</p>
<p>She thinks things like <i>won’t</i> and <i>can’t</i> and <i>hurts</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but you can lay with me so it doesn't hurt

-

She’s probably supposed to be happy. They won this round, and that’s good, they saved the world. For now, at least. Surely that means she should be happy.

But Kenzi is dead and she is alive and Tamsin can’t even breathe.

She can’t remember what she saw in Valhalla. It was  _terrible_ , but she can’t remember what it was. She knows Kenzi’s safe, but only because she knows she would  _not_ have left her there if she weren’t. She would not have abandoned her someplace dangerous. Since Tamsin is back on Earth, Kenzi is safe. That’s all she knows. The rest of the memory is black, with a soundtrack of screams that might be her own.

Kenzi’s safe, but she’s also  _gone_ , and it’s not fair and it  _doesn’t_  make sense and she shouldn’t even have been there, shouldn’t even know what Fae is, she should be living with humans and should be _still_ living. Tamsin would give up ever knowing her if it meant she was still alive. Kenzi changed her life, for the better, but Tamsin would give it all up because she didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve Kenzi, and Kenzi didn’t deserve to die.

The only thing that makes it better, that makes her not feel like her soul is being crushed, is that Kenzi knew. Kenzi knew how Bo felt about her, knew she was her heart. Bo  _told_ Tamsin, back when they first met, that Kenzi was her heart, and Tamsin still didn’t figure it out. But Kenzi did. She knew how loved she was.

Tamsin wonders if maybe Kenzi was her heart, too. That would at least explain the searing pain right behind her ribcage.

-

Dyson says, “Let’s get you home,” and she doesn’t even know what that means.

She was living in her truck but then she crashed it. She was living with Bo and Kenzi but then she grew up. She wasn’t supposed to need taking care of anymore. She left, and when she came back, she got a dingy apartment of her own because she thought she was supposed to be an adult now or something. She missed the clubhouse, though, missed the lack of walls, the noise of living with other people, the way Kenzi would talk to you no matter what room you were in, no matter if you could see her or not, she’d just shout a little louder if you couldn’t hear.

But Tamsin can’t go back there now. Can’t be there if Kenzi is not. And she doesn’t want to go to her crappy, tiny,  _lonely_  apartment.

Dyson doesn’t take her there. He takes her to Lauren’s.

Tamsin doesn’t think Lauren’ll be able to keep this place now that she’s made the Morrigan human. Humans always surprise her, though—Lauren,  _Kenzi_ —so maybe the Morrigan will, too. Lauren has the place now, anyway, which is all that matters. There are still some boxes yet to be unpacked in the corner of the living room, but it’s got a couch and it’s got her  _friends_ , and that’s all Tamsin wants.

Dyson is still half-carrying her when they get there. She expects him to drop her onto the couch next to Bo—Bo, who isn’t talking or crying or anything, is just _staring_  at nothing at all, and Tamsin’s chest splinches open—but he lets her go just inside the door. She’s not going to make it to the couch, she can’t walk that far on her own,  _why did he let her go?_ And then Lauren is wrapping her arms around her, holding her so tight it doesn’t make sense that it makes it easier to breathe. The last time Lauren touched her, she slapped her, and now she’s holding her like she needs her.

When Lauren goes to pull back, Tamsin clutches harder. Lauren shushes her even though she wasn’t making noise.

“Shh, I got you, I got you.”

She helps her to the couch, next to Bo who is still staring, no acknowledgment of anything around her. Lauren puts Tamsin right next to her, close enough their shoulders bump together. Bo doesn’t blink.

“Bo, honey, are you hungry?” Lauren’s voice does not waver. “I’m going to make you something to eat.”

She reaches out to squeeze Bo’s shoulder, but there’s no response. Tamsin thinks she’d rather Bo be screaming.

Lauren brushes a kiss against Tamsin’s forehead before heading toward the kitchen. Tamsin can hear her talking with Dyson, but their voices are low murmurs; she can’t make out the words.

Even though Bo has gone catatonic, she’s still warm against her. Tamsin rests her head on Bo’s shoulder. It’s solid. Real. Alive. She closes her eyes.

She doesn’t open them again until Lauren sets a plate in front of her. Tamsin’s not hungry, but Lauren says, “Eat,” and she does.

Even Bo does—Lauren’s tone brooking no defiance.

Lauren and Dyson eat, too, sitting on the coffee table directly in front of the other two, though there’s room for four on the sofa. They’re all close enough to touch, knees knocking together and breath pooling between them.

-

Bo falls asleep almost before she finishes her plate. Lauren catches her, then Dyson’s lifting Tamsin off the couch so they can lay Bo down.

“She needs to sleep,” Lauren says quietly.

Tamsin wasn’t aware enough to even know what meal Lauren made them, but she realizes Bo got a dose of sedatives with hers. She wonders if she can convince Lauren to give her some, too.

“We all need sleep,” Dyson says.

Tamsin remembers how much he loves—loved—Kenzi. Tamsin can’t barely stand on her own; Dyson, who knew Kenzi longer, who loved her longer, is literally holding her up. She wants to be strong for him, to take care of him the way he’s taking care of her, but she doesn’t know how.

She should.

She’s a Valkyrie. She should know how to handle death. She’s been around for millions of deaths, but somehow this feels like the first.

Kenzi would know what to do, she thinks, and buries her face in Dyson’s neck.

-

Dyson tucks her into Lauren’s bed, pushes her hair behind her ear. “Sleep,” he says.

She thinks things like  _won’t_  and  _can’t_  and  _hurts_.

And then she’s gasping for breath without realizing it, sobs wracking her body. Before she knows what’s happening, she’s surrounded, Dyson on one side, Lauren on the other, under the sheets with her. Dyson’s fingers are in her hair as he whispers things that can’t be true—things like  _you’re safe_ and  _I love you_. Lauren, hands tight on Tamsin’s hips, doesn’t say anything. She just breathes, slowly, steadily, calmly—Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.—until Tamsin can match her breathing.

Dyson isn’t breathing with them. Instead he’s still murmuring to her: “You’re okay. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He doesn’t stop until Tamsin gets both her hands on his face.

“ _You’re_  okay,” she says.

His face breaks, and he kisses her.

For the first time in hours, Tamsin feels okay.

Lauren’s grip tightens then loosens around her waist. Tamsin tries to stop kissing Dyson long enough to catch Lauren’s hands, hold onto her, not let her slip away. But Dyson is kissing desperate, and she can’t let him go either.

Lauren moves, like maybe she’s going to get out of the bed, and finally Dyson rips his mouth away from Tamsin’s. He’s the one to stop Lauren, wraps his fingers around her wrist before she’s out of reach.

He says  _please_  around a breath that sounds more like a sob. 

Lauren kisses him.

Dyson is leaning over Tamsin, pulling Lauren tight against her back. Tamsin lays her cheek on his chest, listens to his heartbeat. She feels okay.

She feels  _loved_.

When they break apart, both Dyson and Lauren turn their focus back to Tamsin; Dyson kisses her forehead, Lauren snakes her arms around her waist. Dyson’s eyes are wide like he'd never expected this. Tamsin can’t waste time being surprised when he still looks so wrecked, like he ran an entire marathon with a gun to his head. Exhausted and terrified and lost on what to do next.

She might know how to take care of him after all.

She kisses anything she can reach. His neck. Cranes her head to reach Lauren’s cheek. She twists onto her back, finds Dyson’s mouth with hers. It’s like he wants to swallow her whole. Before he gets the chance, Lauren pulls her away for a kiss of her own. She fights more than kisses, teeth and rough hands and not letting up. When they finally come apart, neither’s drawn blood, but it’s close.

“I should have been there,” Lauren says.

“You’re here now,” Dyson says.

That’s what matters, Tamsin thinks, still catching her breath. Lauren being there would have meant nothing, prevented nothing, changed nothing. What they need is her here now. Putting food in front of them and making them eat it. Offering her home without a second thought, her couch, her bed. What they need is the way her voice hasn’t yet broken, the way her grip is firm but gentle. Kenzi saved them first, and Lauren is saving them now.

Tamsin kisses her again, gets both hands on her face and keeps it gentle, not exactly closed mouth, but no tongue. Dyson presses into her back; she can feel him, half-hard against her hip. He groans like he’s trying not to, quiet, mostly just breath.

Lauren says, “Yes.” Nods against Tamsin’s mouth. Says it again.

This, Tamsin thinks, is something she knows how to do.

She takes turns kissing them. Lets her hands roam as they kiss each other. It’d be easy to let it be desperate, quick and rough. But there are already too many things they’d rather forget about; Tamsin doesn’t want this to be another.

Dyson grabs at her, but she catches his hands. He looks like he might beg. She wants to beg him instead—to go slow, let her remember what it feels like to feel. There’s a weight on her chest that’s not real, that she doesn’t want to acknowledge, so she pulls him on top of her to make it disappear. Lauren kisses her shoulder.

She wants so badly to deserve this, deserve them.

She tries not to cling to Dyson as she holds him by the hips. His eyes flash yellow and he bites at her mouth, teeth too sharp.

“Easy,” Lauren murmurs beside them, her hands under Dyson’s shirt.

He backs off. Tamsin swears he even looks contrite. He apologizes by mouthing at her neck, just lips and tongue, gentle enough not to leave marks. Tamsin kisses Lauren in thanks.

They work together to get Dyson’s shirt off. He keeps at Tamsin’s neck while four hands tug and pull and stop and start, pushing the shirt up only to get distracted by abs and ribs and the ridges of his back, vertebrae and shoulder blades. His skin is so warm. When they finally get the shirt over his head, Tamsin’s hands keep mapping his body. Lauren kisses up from the base of his spine, up, up, up, until he turns and meets her mouth with his own.

Tamsin tries not to squirm. She wants slow, easy, gentle, but the sight of Lauren’s tongue sliding against Dyson’s makes her slick. As much as she’s trying not to, she must wriggle a little, because Dyson and Lauren break apart to chuckle at her.

“Easy,” Dyson teases. He kisses her before she can roll her eyes.

And then she doesn’t even want to, because he seems to have caught on to her desire to be a lot more naked. He pushes her shirt up, leaves it tangled in her arms over her head, and gives her a look like he wants her to stay like that. She considers refusing just to fuck with him, but Lauren wraps her fingers around one of Tamsin’s wrists, and human or not, the doc’s grip is strong enough Tamsin’s not sure she could go anywhere if she tried. As Dyson moves down Tamsin’s body, he pauses to nip at Lauren’s stomach, grinning.

Dyson takes his time getting Tamsin’s pants off. He rolls them down inch by inch, tracing the curves of her skin with his mouth, and it would be driving her  _crazy_ , nowhere close to enough, but Lauren is kissing her so dirty she doesn’t even care. Dyson has her pants at her ankles by the time Lauren gives her a chance to breathe.

“Stay,” Lauren says.

She lets go of Tamsin’s wrist, and Tamsin stays.

Lauren pulls her own shirt over her head. Tamsin’s fingers twitch—she wants to touch—but she stays.

When Dyson looks up to see Lauren’s shirt off, he growls. “I wanted to do that.”

“Dibs on the pants,” Tamsin says immediately.

Lauren laughs, and for a moment, smiling is easy.

Tamsin’s pretty sure it’s going to be a while before she gets to Lauren’s pants, though. Her fingers are back around Tamsin’s wrists now that they’re both topless—or, not completely topless: they’ve still got bras on and Tamsin knows, she  _knows_  she was the one who wanted this to be slow but there’s slow and then there’s  _slow_. Dyson is repeating the path his mouth took on the way down as he comes back up her now bare legs.

Tamsin wiggles her hips. Dyson just laughs and holds them down. Lauren traces over the places Dyson had kissed on Tamsin’s neck, but she does it harder, uses teeth. Tamsin would be thrashing around the bed if the other two weren’t strong enough to stop her.

She struggles against them until Dyson gets his mouth on her, one broad lick right up her center, and her entire body goes limp because  _finally_. She kisses Lauren with her mouth open.

Dyson didn’t do this last time. Last time was a quick drunk fuck to forget everyone who didn’t want them. It wasn’t the moment for anything other than bodies crashing together. This time is slow and sober, to remember that they lost something, some _one_ , but they are still alive. This time, Dyson keeps his tongue inside her for so long she doesn’t know how he’s breathing—doesn’t know how she’s still breathing, for that matter.

Everything feels so good, Dyson’s mouth and Lauren’s mouth and Lauren’s hands, drawing patterns across her skin, but none of it is enough. She lets out this whine, high-pitched and the wrong side of needy, that Lauren cuts off with a kiss.

“Am I allowed to take her bra off, Dyson, or did you want to be the one to do that, too?” Lauren asks. His eyes go yellow again and she laughs. “That was a joke. I’m not asking. I’m doing it.”

Tamsin couldn’t care less who takes her bra off, as long as someone does it. It is Lauren, in the end, while Dyson stares up hungrily from between Tamsin’s legs. But then Lauren doesn’t do anything, just looks at them, barely touches them, all gentle and  _reverent_.

Tamsin has been on edge for days. For weeks, really. Her life cycle just restarted, but she’s exhausted like she’s at the end of it. She cannot take another moment of her entire body being taut, focused, ready. Cannot take another moment of waiting for whatever comes next.

“I  _need_ —” is all she has breath for, but she must sound adequately desperate. Dyson slides his fingers into her—one, two, seven, she honestly has no idea because at the same time, Lauren bites down on one nipple and pinches the other and Tamsin comes apart.

-

She lets them hold her afterward, one on each side, but only until she decides who she wants her mouth on first.

“Dyson,” she says, glad her voice sounds steady even though her veins are still strumming. “I’m going to be nice.”

She can feel him grin against her shoulder. “That so?”

“It is,” she says. “You can take off Lauren’s pants.”

Lauren throws her head back and laughs, and Tamsin understands every stupid decision Bo has ever made for this woman.

She kisses her then, her hands sliding immediately around to the clasp of her bra. Tamsin has been pressed up against Lauren for what seems like hours, all bare skin except  _not_ , not all, not quite, and Dyson can have her pants as long as Tamsin can get this goddamn bra off.

Tamsin wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but Lauren’s tits are even better when they’re out of the bra. She gets her mouth on them right away, no finesse, not enough concentration for it. Lauren moans like she really doesn’t mind. Usually Tamsin would be more careful—Lauren’s not one of them, can’t take as much—but she’s also  _Lauren_. And so far she seems the strongest among them. So Tamsin leaves teeth marks everywhere her mouth goes. Lauren’s hands roam over Tamsin’s skin, no real intent behind the touch. Tamsin does everything she can to get her fingernails to dig in.

Lauren watches. She spends the whole time head tilted up, interested. Tamsin would bet she’s still playing scientist, cataloguing her body’s response. Tamsin’s doing the same thing, really—paying attention to what makes Lauren’s mouth fall open, what makes her eyes slide closed. Dyson doesn’t take nearly as long to take Lauren’s pants off as he did Tamsin’s, which Tamsin doesn’t think is exactly fair, but it makes watching the doctor’s face all the more interesting.

It’s not like Dyson got a raw deal or anything—and Tamsin is  _definitely_ going down on Lauren at some point—but Tamsin wouldn’t trade with him for the world. She  _cannot_  get enough of Lauren’s chest. She likes the give of it, the way when she bites at her ribcage, the body beneath is hard and strong, but a little higher and she can kiss the first slope of her breast, just where the softness begins.

Tamsin’s lost somewhere between bliss and insanity. The little noises Lauren makes, her face when Dyson’s tongue slides against her just right, how soft her skin is—it’s all got Tamsin clenching around nothing. She knows she’s the only person in this bed who’s come yet, but she still feels like someone should be touching her more. Lauren has all but stopped, too strung out by whatever Dyson’s doing. She’s not even kissing her properly anymore. She’s still watching though, eyes hooded and a half-smile on her face. Tamsin shifts her hips trying to find pressure.

And then “ _fuck_ ,” because Dyson slides his fingers into her. He scissors them, makes her shudder. Lauren’s smile goes bigger. Tamsin kisses her, then looks down to Dyson, who’s not even paying attention to her, is eyes-closed and face-deep in Lauren’s cunt. It’s a pretty good look for him.

Now that Tamsin’s got some relief, she turns her attention back to making Lauren feel—everything. Lauren is still smiling at her, but then Dyson does something particularly nice and she closes her eyes, lets out a moan. Her eyes stay closed, for once, like her body finally feels too good to let her watch. Tamsin takes advantage of Lauren not being able to see what’s coming; she twists a nipple between her fingers, harder than she probably should. Lauren cries out and it sounds like it’s pain, not pleasure, so Tamsin lets go, but Lauren’s eyes fly open again.

“No, please,” she says. “No, don’t stop, yes, please.”

Tamsin twists again. Lauren goes incoherent, babbles words but not sentences. Tamsin hadn’t realized she was so close. She keeps her fingers on one of Lauren’s nipples, closes her teeth around the other. Lauren grabs at her hair, hands clenching and relaxing against her scalp. Tamsin grinds down on Dyson’s fingers as she sucks and nips at Lauren’s skin.

Lauren moves past words, is stuck repeating moans and hisses and sharp breaths. Dyson must have been waiting for that, or something, because it’s then that he brushes his fingers against a spot inside Tamsin that she didn’t even realize he had found yet. But he has, and he hits it just right, and her teeth bite down on Lauren’s nipple even harder.

Lauren is loud, body still and rigid until suddenly it’s not, until it’s shaking and shaking and she slams her head back against the pillow, more than once. Tamsin’s mouth goes soft, fingers gentle. She can’t look away.

As she comes down, eyes finally opening again, Lauren gets this shy, self-conscious smile. Tamsin practically tackles her to get at her mouth, doesn’t care that it means she’s out of Dyson’s reach, his fingers sliding out of her easily. She kisses Lauren until their teeth click together. The idea that Lauren is anything other than the most beautiful—she just—she looks  _embarrassed_ , which doesn’t make sense because that was  _perfect_.

Tamsin thinks about saying  _I love you_ , thinks maybe she should be telling everyone that, everyone she cares about, because someday she won’t be able to. Instead, she kisses Lauren reckless. Lauren lets her, is more pliant now that she’s come. Dyson slides up the bed beside them. He sucks hard enough on the back of Tamsin’s neck to make her pull back with a gasp.

“Okay,” Lauren says. Calls her sweetheart like it means something. “Don’t you think we should give Dyson a turn?”

“I think Dyson’s enjoying himself just fine,” Tamsin says, biting at Lauren’s jaw while simultaneously arching her neck, trying to get Dyson to put his mouth there again.

“I can’t say she’s wrong.” Dyson sounds like he swallowed a handful of gravel. He gets naked, finally, pushing his pants and boxers over his hips and down. 

“I should have guessed you wouldn’t care about turns,” Lauren says, stern but also not at all, jutting her chin up so Tamsin’s mouth moves lower. “Why don’t you sit on his cock just because I want you to?”

Tamsin breaks away to curse; Dyson jerks against her side. Lauren stops being pliant and starts moving. She pushes Tamsin upright in her lap, one hand scratching down her back as she kisses her.

Tamsin swallows, tries to get ahold of her breathing. “How am I supposed to respond to that?”

“By sitting on his cock. Was that somehow not clear?”

Dyson groans, leans up to kiss Lauren. She shoves him down onto his back. She lifts Tamsin off of her, doesn’t even look like it takes much work, to drop her onto Dyson instead. It makes Tamsin feel small. It’s something Kenzi used to do when she  _was_  small, just lift her up and move her around. Kenzi thought it was great to finally not be the littlest one. Some of the memory must show on Tamsin’s face, because Lauren kisses her suddenly.

“You’re okay,” she says. “We’re here.”

It has to be enough because it’s all there is.

Lauren kisses her again. Her mouth is back to gentle, but her fingers are certain on Tamsin’s nipples. She keeps them there while Tamsin looks down at Dyson.

“So I guess I’m supposed to sit on your cock,” Tamsin says. The words don’t sound nearly as fantastic out of her mouth as they did Lauren’s, but they make Dyson twitch between her legs all the same.

He gives her a smile. “Doctor’s orders.”

He lets her be in control, sliding slowly onto him, lets her shift above him, runs his hands up and down her sides as she breathes and adjusts. Once she’s settled, he sits halfway up, sort of butts his head at hers to kiss her. The way it makes him move inside her counteracts all the settling in she’d just done. She shudders. He kisses her again, then falls back down to the bed.

Lauren’s kneeling beside them, fingers stroking through Tamsin’s hair. Tamsin remembers it falling out, remembers this is the last of all of her life cycles. Lauren kisses her, and she decides to stop remembering.

“You’re okay,” Lauren says again. It’s what Dyson said, what started this whole thing, like maybe if they all say it enough times it will be true.

Tamsin kisses her again, bites her bottom lip. She tries to grind down on Dyson at the same time, but he’s got his hands tight on her hips now. He won’t let her move. She retaliates by grip-grip-gripping along his length. She’s not sure if the noise he makes is a laugh or a groan.

Lauren latches onto Tamsin's neck, seemingly intent on leaving a particularly large mark. Tamsin tilts her head to give her better access.

Only then Lauren’s mouth is gone, and Tamsin is on her back, Dyson grinning above her. She rolls her eyes at him.

“You could have just said you wanted to be on top.”

“My way was more fun,” he says, pulling one of her legs up around his waist so she moans instead of arguing.

Lauren laughs gently in her ear. Her hands are busy; it feels like they’re everywhere. Dyson’s settling into this slow, push-pull rhythm, but Lauren is the opposite of slow—fingers skirting over Tamsin’s skin, never staying long in one place. Every time Tamsin arches into the touch, Lauren pulls away. It’s maddening.

Tamsin tries to focus on Dyson instead, on squeezing around him, pulling him deeper. He is heartbreakingly warm. She wonders how long she could keep him inside her, thinks it would be okay if he never left. He’s covering her body with his, shielding her, and Lauren pushes at his chest like she’s jealous. He pulls back enough to let her see. When her hands move back to Tamsin, her touch is firmer. It’s enough pressure not to tickle, not enough for anything else.

“You know,” Tamsin says, “I think I like the idea of turns after all.”

“Yeah?” Lauren says, already laughing at her.

“Yeah. And now it’s my turn to make you come.” She slips her hand between Lauren’s legs.

Lauren shudders, and Dyson rewards Tamsin with a kiss. Lauren is too wet for her to get any friction, her fingers sliding uselessly. It feels  _amazing_  to Tamsin—she is  _so_  wet—but she knows it won’t be enough to make Lauren come, which is what she wants, to see her face as she comes again. Tamsin pulls her hand back and taps Lauren’s thigh instead. Lauren blinks her eyes open.

“Up,” Tamsin says.

“Hmm?”

“Up,” she says again. Gestures toward the head of the bed.

Dyson understands before Lauren does. He thrusts hard into Tamsin and says, “Yes.” Lauren gets it then, looks almost sheepish about it. Sheepish or not, she still ends up with her thighs bracketing Tamsin’s face.

Tamsin usually has better control. Most of the time she’s got good technique—style, even—and she takes pride in that. If this were any other day, she could go slow, would get off on how Lauren would get more and more desperate. If this were any other day, though, she wouldn’t be here.

(If this were any other day, Kenzi wouldn’t—)

Today, once Tamsin gets her mouth on Lauren, she can’t do anything but keep going. She doesn’t worry about the fact that she’s still not getting friction where Lauren most wants it—she’s just licking, long and desperate, dragging her tongue again and again because Lauren tastes better than anything. She doesn’t stop— _can’t_  stop—until Dyson thrusts just right, and she has to pull away to cry out.

“ _God_ , Tamsin,” Lauren mutters. “You just—”

Tamsin wraps her lips around Lauren’s clit before she can finish the sentence.

And then Lauren is coming.

It’s an amazing view, her fingers plucking at her own nipples, mouth open, then Tamsin can’t see her mouth at all, just the line of her neck, the point of her chin as her head drops back. Even with Lauren’s thighs muffling her ears, Tamsin can hear the noises she’s making, loud and insistent and almost enough to make Tamsin come, too.

It ends too soon. Lauren climbs off before Tamsin has had near enough of her taste. Just as quickly, though, she’s back, facing the other way and leaning forward. Tamsin can’t see, but she knows that Lauren’s kissing Dyson, that she rearranged herself just for this: so she could kiss Dyson without being out of Tamsin’s reach, so they could all be touching each other. So she could sit on Tamsin’s face and kiss Dyson and watch while he fucks her.

Lauren is really fucking hot, it turns out.

Tamsin squeezes around Dyson. It makes him press forward into Lauren, which makes Lauren grind down on Tamsin’s face. That’s a pretty good trick. She does it again and relishes how slick her cheeks are, messy with Lauren’s wetness.

Dyson slings one of Tamsin’s legs higher around his hips. The head of his cock finds the place inside of her that his fingers found earlier, and if Lauren’s neighbors weren’t awake before, they definitely are now. Tamsin can’t stop herself; she’s almost screaming. Lauren reaches one hand down and pushes Tamsin against her again, gets her to put her mouth to better use.

Tamsin clenches and sucks. She barely knows what she’s doing. She feels alive, surrounded by breath and sweat and heat. Pleasure rolls through her, like her blood cells are vibrating. Someone’s hands are rough on her chest and they’re all coming—at least she thinks they are: Lauren’s legs tight around her head and Dyson’s hips stuttering hard and of all the noise they’re making, it’s her heart that’s the loudest, Tamsin thinks, pounding behind her ribs.

-

They end up curled in somewhat of a heap. Tamsin was too spent to move as the other two arranged themselves around her, Lauren on the right, Dyson on the left, each with an arm thrown over her. She offers them each a kiss.

“Can we—” she starts. Lauren kisses her collarbone. “Let’s get Bo.”

Dyson kisses her again and climbs out of bed. He pulls his boxers back on. “I’ll get her. You rest.”

Tamsin would protest, but exhaustion is creeping in. Her chest isn’t as heavy as before, but her eyes are, blinking slowly without her permission. When she opens them again, Dyson has left, and Lauren’s murmuring softly to her.

“I have some clothes you can wear,” she says.

She gives her a tank top and sweatpants that only reach her ankles. Tamsin looks silly in them, but it makes Lauren smile. As good as Lauren looks in her spaghetti strap tank and cotton shorts, Tamsin misses her skin. They climb back into bed and she immediately pushes Lauren’s shirt up, just a little, lets her hand rest on the curve of her waist. Lauren kisses her. Calls her  _baby_.

“We’re gonna be okay,” she says, and Tamsin believes her.

When Dyson comes back he’s got Bo in his arms, the same way he carried Tamsin to the apartment. It makes Bo look small. She’s still asleep, brow a little furrowed. Tamsin and Lauren make room so Dyson can set her in the middle of the bed.

Tamsin immediately presses herself against Bo. There’s comfort in her physicality, in being able to touch her, like maybe Tamsin needs to be reminded that she exists. Lauren curls up on Bo’s other side, one arm stretched over her to reach Tamsin’s hip, holding them all together. Dyson settles in behind Tamsin. She’s glad he’s still shirtless, the heat of his skin bleeding through her tank top.

This doesn’t fix anything. This doesn’t make what’s happened any better. And it doesn’t make the road they’ve got in front of them any easier. But Tamsin’s chest doesn’t hurt when she breathes, and she falls asleep feeling safe.

 


End file.
